


Compromised

by NebulousMistress



Series: Iaso, Lady of the Void [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode: s02e13 Critical Mass, Gen, did the research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-04 18:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14025840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: Steven Caldwell has been compromised. The Goa'uld is screwing with us, that has to be it. We need to find out how long it's been here and if we can save him.





	1. The Goddess

Lieutenant Mark Stuart stood outside the bars of the brig's only occupied cell. These cells had never been occupied before, not like this, and now his commanding officer languished here. Colonel Caldwell sat curled and oddly poised in the corner on the flat bench provided, eerily iridescent eyes gazing out at him.

It wasn't right. But then, this wasn't really Caldwell.

The Goa'uld who controlled Caldwell smirked, a low amused chuckle escaping his throat. It reverberated deeper than it should, echoing somehow in his ears and his mind, drawing him closer to hear more.

Stuart kept his distance.

“I suppose Prime Meyers will take command,” Caldwell mused, that same reverberating voice hitting a note in some deep instinct Stuart didn't know he had. Caldwell noticed the shiver even as Stuart tried to hide it. “Will I be taken back to Earth and the both of us killed, I wonder? The Tau'ri consider the host's death a mercy, I hear. Surely you won't involve the Tok'ra, they must be busy scheming to pick up the shards left behind from the Ori's rampage. You know you can't trust them, the moment you turn your back they'll remember what they are.”

“And what's that?” Stuart asked.

Caldwell leaned forward, an oddly sinuous movement as he slid his hands along the bench. “We are gods, my child,” he purred.

Stuart scoffed.

“You don't have to believe me,” Caldwell said. He stood up and sauntered to the bars, not quite touching them. The uncertain sentries standing guard with their guns were far more vigilant here than on any Goa'uld ship. “Yet here I am. Tell me, child, have you ever met a god you believed in?”

Stuart took a step back. “Just because you're here doesn't mean you're a god.”

“Of course not,” Caldwell agreed. He chuckled at the look of confusion on Stuart's face. “You can't claim to be a god and expect it to happen on its own. You have to want it. You need power. The Ori are gods because they have that power. I had power like that once. Well...” Caldwell smiled sheepishly, looking down in a way that seemed almost demure. “Not power like theirs. I am, after all, still physical. But that doesn't mean I never healed plague with a touch, melancholy with a whisper, agony with a caress. Reversed death with a kiss...”

Stuart realized he was far too close to the bars only when his hands touched the smooth metal. He pulled away, backing against the wall behind him. Caldwell didn't move to restrain him, instead he sauntered back to the bench.

“The Ori are monsters and so are you,” Stuart whispered.

Caldwell chuckled as he perched on the bench, curling his legs below him. “I accept all compliments,” he said.

Stuart fled the brig, exiting into one of the lower corridors. This part of the _Daedalus_ was seldom used except as excess storage space. Even now Stuart had to weave between crates of carefully packed Ancient technology marked with red tape and big black letters declaring the crates to be 'ATA-Unsafe'. Captain Meyers had assured him and everyone that they could get these crates packed back into the brig as soon as 'the situation was dealt with'.

If it weren't so horrifying Stuart might be in the mess hall right now with half the rest of the crew taking bets as to whether or not they'd get a new commander after this.

*****

Major Evan Lorne and Captain Pat Meyers stood in the one room on the _Daedalus_ that felt off-limits. But Colonel Caldwell was in the brig while Hermiod and Dr. Novak attempted to come up with an idea that might save him. The Goa'uld inside him seemed disinclined to leave on its own even after Colonel Sheppard asked nicely.

Lorne could have told Sheppard it wouldn't work. The Goa'uld weren't like that. Instead the Goa'uld inside Caldwell might still believe it could escape from this, maybe even with its host.

Meyers took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as she gathered her thoughts. “So what are we looking for?” she asked.

“Not sure,” Lorne said. “Some idea as to how long Caldwell's been...”

“Mind-controlled?”

Lorne nodded. He didn't know of a better way to put it. 'Hosted' sounded too minor, 'puppeted' was too weird, 'dominated' just sounded wrong. Maybe 'possessed'?

“And we'll find that in here?”

“Hopefully.”

Lorne bit back his misgivings and allowed himself to look around Caldwell's personal quarters with a clinical eye. This was where the Goa'uld laired for who knew how long, there should be some sign of its presence. “Goa'uld are sociopathic narcissistic megalomaniacs,” Lorne said, gathering his thoughts for his own benefit as well as hers. “They believe themselves gods and they act like it, demanding absolute worship and obedience from their slaves. Their empire once spanned the Milky Way until their slaves rose up and overthrew the System Lords.”

“And one of these...”

“One of these has Caldwell,” Lorne agreed. “But this doesn't seem anything like any of the Goa'uld lairs I've read about.”

Caldwell's quarters were clean and organized, no less than one might expect from a proper colonel of the Air Force. A blank dresser sat with a mirror above it, a bed with a blue bedspread across from that, a nightstand next to the bed. A desk with a chair and carefully organized paperwork dominated one corner. The bulkheads were bare, no personal effects to speak of. There was nothing here to remind one of the man who spent most of the past year living here. But there was nothing to betray the true identity of the controlling mind either.

“Looks okay,” Meyers said.

“It's all wrong,” Lorne said. “It's too austere. Goa'uld don't do austere. Ever. There should be silk and gold and opulence everywhere. Look around. Goa'uld are hedonists, we're missing something.”

Meyers stopped and grimaced. “I did not want that mental image,” she complained.

“Then don't think about it.” Lorne went to the bed and ran his hand over the bedspread. It didn't feel like the cotton-poly blend of his own regulation bedding, this felt different. Softer. He grabbed the bedspread and pulled it off the bed to reveal its secrets.

Meyers whistled. Satin sheets had no business on the _Daedalus_ and these were no exception. Their deep purple color shimmered as she touched the fabric. “Suddenly I'm not minding that mental image,” she said.

“Now I don't want it,” Lorne said. He pushed the thought away and pulled the sheets down, examining the fabric. It was silk, of course, soft silk that flowed like water under his fingertips. A Goa'uld wouldn't settle for anything less.

Meyers hummed and went to the dresser. She opened the top drawer of the dresser and stopped. “Huh,” she said.

“Found something?”

The top drawer held a collection of delicate glass bottles and ornate jewelry. The bottles were carefully packed in foam grids, easy to pull out of place but impossible to jostle, the better to survive the rigors of space battles. Cut glass stoppers sparkled even next to the gold jewelry and fat gems of strange design. Meyers picked up an apparatus of gold bands set with rubies all chained together that ended in a gold plate that somehow seemed like it fit over the back of the hand. She laid it out on the dresser's blank top. “This seems like a bad sign,” she said. She reached in the dresser again and pulled out a gold and silver circlet. She put it on her brow and checked herself in the mirror.

Lorne scowled and plucked it off of her. “Don't,” he warned.

Meyers pouted and pulled out one of the glass bottles. The garnet colored stopper shone red and black in the cabin's light. The pulled the stopper and sniffed. “Perfume?” she guessed, putting the stopper back on the bottle.

Lorne sat down on the bed. The mattress wasn't even standard, it was far too soft to be regulation. The veneer of austerity of the room seemed sinister as the hidden touches led to one inescapable conclusion.

Caldwell had been compromised a while ago. Months at least.

A Goa'uld commanded the _Daedalus_ for months. Who could tell what other damage it had done?

*****

Colonel Sheppard paced the _Daedalus_ SCIF. The small room was meant for the dissemination of sensitive information away from the crew. This couldn't have been what the designers meant. Caldwell sat handcuffed to a chair, a table between him and Sheppard meant as a psychological barrier. It didn't seem to be working, not as Sheppard paced and postured and fingered the taser at his side.

Yet Caldwell didn't make a move. Instead he watched with detached amusement, easily relaxing into the chair despite the metal holding him in place.

“Why have the Goa'uld joined the Trust?” Sheppard demanded.

Caldwell looked at his nails, their three week old manicure beginning to show its age. “As much as you claim otherwise, the Tau'ri truly know how to satisfy a god.” The reverberation of his voice was somehow more jarring than the iridescence of his eyes. “This invention of yours called 'tips' had your world's body slaves tripping over themselves to satisfy me. They fought for the opportunity to worship me.”

Sheppard slammed a fist down on the table. “You're not answering my question,” he growled.

Caldwell smiled. “You won't like the answer.”

“I already don't like it.”

The smile faded in an instant, a shift so incongruous Sheppard's hand reached for the taser before he could stop himself. He had to force himself to let it go.

“Your 'Trust' fancy themselves the protectors of your world,” Caldwell purred. “They put the purity of the Tau'ri above all other concerns, including their own people. They don't care to learn the workings of their enemies. That was their downfall.”

“'Was'?”

The smile came back complete with an enduring smugness. “Yes, Colonel. 'Was'. They thought they could control us. Once the System Lords fell several of my, ah, 'colleagues' hatched a plan to salvage what we could. The Trust, with their contacts and knowledge and utter inability to see their own weaknesses, were an opportunity too rich to pass up.” Caldwell laughed. “I hear the first agents who were conned into taking symbiotes screamed so prettily from the prisons of their own minds. Much as Steven once screamed.”

Sheppard ignored that statement. “And what do you get out of it?”

“A galaxy.”

Sheppard scoffed. “Your kind lost the Milky Way,” he said. “Dr. Weir told me about your former empire. You're not getting that back.”

Caldwell cocked his head and his voice changed, becoming something Sheppard knew and trusted. The iridescence faded from his eyes. Steven Caldwell sat there, handcuffed to a chair. But his words were still all wrong. “I never would have pegged you as someone who thought small, Sheppard.”

Sheppard's hand twitched and he grasped the handle of his taser. “Don't use his voice,” he growled.

“Why not? I've used his voice for longer than you realize.” Yet the reverberation was back, marking him as something 'other', made him easier to hate.

Sheppard ignored that comment too. The Goa'uld was just trying to get a rise out of him. “So, a galaxy then?” he said, enunciating the words with careful effort.

“A galaxy,” Caldwell agreed. “If I had Atlantis from the beginning it would have been easy. Instead I had the _Daedalus_. At first I thought the trade a poor one but a ship has its uses. I'm not bound to the chaapa'ai. My ship can traverse the Void between galaxies in mere weeks, not decades as I'd envisioned. And there's always a port where I can land and take advantage of the local color.”

“So why destroy Atlantis?”

“I assure you, it wasn't personal.”

Sheppard took a step back to lean against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Of course it wasn't.”

Caldwell shrugged. “The Trust isn't fully under our control yet,” he admitted. “Autonomous Tau'ri agents still have their place. They want to keep their little world safe from the horrors of a universe that cares nothing for their vaunted purity. That's where Atlantis comes in. Atlantis is one of two veins connecting the Milky Way to an entire galaxy infected by the Wraith. Your chaapa'ai, my ship. The Trust would destroy both to keep the Wraith contained. I admit, sever those veins and the Wraith will ravage Pegasus until they starve and then the infection can be lanced properly. But I had a better idea.”

“Destroy Atlantis and... then what?”

“Then I take the _Daedalus_ back to the Milky Way. I raid a few of my own caches scattered among the Systems and then I retreat to the Void. This crew trusted me, they would worship me properly in time. And when the Wraith starved themselves to weakness I would descend to finish their threat permanently.” Caldwell sighed, longing clearly written on his face. “An entire galaxy in dire need of a god. I would save them from the ravages of the Wraith plague and they would worship me. You see, Sheppard, the Trust want your world. I used that want to give myself an entire galaxy.”

Sheppard stood speechless. A chill washed over him as he realized this Goa'uld, this creature living within Caldwell, could have succeeded. The _Daedalus_ was faster than anything else the SGC had yet conceived of. By the time the SGC managed to match the _Daedalus_ in terms of raw speed or power this ship could have been anywhere in the Local Group. Space was vast and far from empty, there were planets all strung throughout the Void in tidal tails and disrupted dwarf galaxies and galactic halos. If the _Daedalus_ disappeared with a Goa'uld at the helm...

By the time the crew realized what had gone wrong it would be far too late.

Caldwell wasn't finished. “As soon as I got the message from Earth I knew I had my chance,” he continued. “It always seemed like such a pity to lose all of you. But the best cures are often poisons and I had already accepted your loss. Still, I would have evacuated Atlantis without hesitation. I would have found you a nice world with a chaapa'ai where you could learn your place.”

“Where we'd be slaves to you?” Sheppard asked. His voice betrayed a growing nausea at the situation. This was worse than the Wraith. At least with the Wraith one was guaranteed death as a way out. He had the feeling simple death wouldn't have saved any of them from enforced worship. And, really, after a couple of generations, after the Wraith were really gone, would there be anyone left willing to resist?

“Would you disobey an order to feed yourself?” Caldwell looked like he honestly cared about the answer. “Would you really choose death over service? I have always treated my slaves well. I'm their god, of course I care for them. And in return they adore me, they serve me, they worship me. You would have learned to adore me just the same.”

Sheppard swallowed his rising bile and tore the taser from his belt. He pulled the trigger.

Caldwell's screams made him feel a little better. But not by much. And this time the real Steven Caldwell didn't appear with desperate words to save the day.


	2. The Extraction

Sheppard stood waiting outside the engineering lab. He would have preferred to oversee the prisoner transfer in its entirety but he'd already been yelled at twice over the concept of 'ATA-Unsafe'. Instead he was stuck here overseeing the last few feet and the beginning of the procedure while Major Leonard handled the easy part.

Hermiod, Dr. McKay, and Dr. Novak had some plan involving the Asgard beaming device. To be honest, Sheppard didn't want to know the details. Too gruesome.

On the other end of the corridor a door slid open. Two guards walked backwards, their weapons trained on what should have been their commanding officer. Two more guards walked behind, Major Leonard bringing up the rear. Yet Caldwell didn't seem to notice the guards at all, or more likely he chose not to notice.

“Colonel Sheppard,” Caldwell greeted. “Come to oversee my execution?”

“Why aren't you trying to get away?” Sheppard asked, his own perverse curiosity causing him to regret even this much involvement.

Caldwell shrugged. “Why should I?” he said. “This ship floats in the Void, does it not? Even if I were to overwhelm my captors and make it to an escape pod I do not doubt you'd shoot it down.”

“Probably,” Sheppard agreed.

“And if I did survive, what waits below me? The Lantean mainland is nearly devoid of suitable hosts. Even if I overcame all odds and found the Athosian settlement, what is the likelihood I'd ever see the chaapa'ai again? No, escape is not possible. I have only my vengeance left.”

Caldwell's guards all raised their weapons, training them on their former commander.

Sheppard drew his taser and aimed it. “Tell me what you've done now,” he demanded.

Caldwell laughed, his eyes flashing iridescent at the glee of the Goa'uld within. “I haven't done anything yet,” he said. “Not yet.”

“Not ever,” Sheppard growled. “Not anymore.”

Caldwell allowed himself to be guided unceremoniously into the engineering lab. Hermiod, McKay, and Novak all stood within, Hermiod preparing the transporters for the task at hand. A table stood in the middle of the room, heavy restraints ready. Nurse Marie stood to the side with a head immobilizer in hand, ready to secure Caldwell's head in place for easier extraction.

“Crude,” Caldwell said. “Still, less torture than I expect the Tok'ra would employ. Drugs, then?”

“That's the idea,” McKay said.

Caldwell scoffed. “I will have my vengeance, Colonel,” he said. “Extraction won't take that from me.”

“Death might,” Sheppard said.

“Such small thoughts.” Caldwell didn't resist as his guards forced him onto the table and strapped his wrists and ankles tight. Instead he seemed deep in thought, busy with some internal battle between Goa'uld and host. “Death is only the beginning.”

Sheppard didn't know what to make of that so he ignored it. And then he saw the large glass specimen jar Marie had on her crash cart, an empty jar large enough to store a human head.

“Make sure it dies,” he said before leaving.

Major Leonard left two guards at the door as he pulled back to allow the Asgard to do its work.

McKay, Novak, and Hermiod poured over the calculations. The math had to be precise. Too wide a field and the operation would be a disaster in the form of an accidental extraction of brain matter. Too narrow and similar disaster; there were old case studies from the early days of the SGC involving incomplete Goa'uld extractions where the Goa'uld's personality somehow remained behind, still in complete control.

The hardest part was the Goa'uld itself. McKay swore under his breath as the transporter took a preliminary scan and they all realized the problem.

Caldwell was strapped to the table, his head encased in the head vise. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even trying to move. Within him the Goa'uld squirmed, wiggling and thrashing in chaotic sinuous ways that couldn't have been good for Caldwell's brain. Worse, it made getting a proper lock on the creature all but impossible.

“Get it still,” Hermiod said.

“Will do,” Marie said. She prepped Caldwell with an IV line and then pulled a 10mL syringe from the crash cart.

McKay had to look away while Novak watched in odd fascination. Only Hermiod seemed unfazed as he monitored the transporter scans. After an eternity the syringe was empty and Marie took a deep breath before stepping back to lean against the wall. That should do it.

“Insufficient,” Hermiod said.

“What?!” Marie demanded. Caldwell looked dead to the world.

“The symbiote is unaffected,” Hermiod said. “I suggest a larger dose.”

“Are you serious?!” Marie looked from Hermiod back to Caldwell. “That was 750 milligrams of sodium thiopenthal!”

“Was it a killing dose?” Hermiod asked.

“Well, no, but--”

“Then it was insufficient. Repeat the dose.”

Marie stared down the short alien. “I gave him enough to put him in a coma,” she said. “Another dose could kill him.”

“He will die if I miss,” Hermiod warned.

Marie lost some of her anger as she looked back at the empty specimen jar and winced. The size of the specimen jar seemed oddly ominous.

“The symbiote needs to remain still,” Hermiod said. “I can predict the symbiote's movements to less than 50% accuracy. The margin of error is too large. If I make the attempt now, Steven Caldwell dies.” Hermiod blinked at Nurse Marie, taking in her dawning horror. “It is likely an overdose of sedatives can be reversed after the symbiote is removed. Would you like to save him? Or would you like to watch me kill him?”

Nurse Maris pulled another syringe from the crash cart and slid it into the IV tube. She pushed the fluid, refusing to look at the empty specimen jar.

Nothing changed.

“Again,” Hermiod commanded.

Marie took a deep breath and pulled a third syringe. She didn't exhale until the vial was empty.

“The symbiote's movements have reduced by 17%,” McKay said.

“Not good enough,” Hermiod said. “Again.”

“How far do you--” Hic. “--intend to go?” Novak asked.

“I would prefer a target who's movements I can predict with 95% accuracy,” Hermiod said. “I need to be precise to remove the entire symbiote or there may be long term effects.”

“Removing brain tissue is also a 'long term effect',” McKay drawled.

Novak turned to Marie. “Keep going,” she demanded. The effect was broken by the barrage of hiccups that cascaded from her as she realized. They'd all done it now. They'd all given the order that might end Colonel Caldwell.

The fourth syringe went with deceptive calmness. McKay kept track of the Goa'uld's movements inside Caldwell's skull while Hermiod ran simulation after simulation on the _Daedalus's_ mainframe. Novak watched with interest as the simulations got better as the Goa'uld's movements slowed.

And then the first sign of a problem.

“He's stopped breathing,” Marie warned.

Only then did it dawn on them all that this wasn't a medical operating theatre. There were no machines to monitor vital signs, no gentle beeping or alarmed whines. This was an engineering lab.

“Then deal with it,” McKay snapped. “Hermiod, time crunch starts now. We have four minutes until brain damage.”

Marie handed Novak a hand pump device and showed her how to fit it over Caldwell's face. She reached for the next syringe but found she'd run out. Three grams of sodium thiopental, twice the dose used in general euthanasia. The thought made her grab the tiny syringe of epinephrine just in case his heart stopped.

Hermiod's console chimed. He chirped at the results. “I have it,” he said. “I am beginning the attempt.”

The shift of a crystal and then a flash of light and then something inside the specimen jar tapped and flopped and weaved and finally lay still.

“Get us down to Atlantis right now!” McKay shouted.

Hermiod reset the transporter and beamed McKay, Caldwell, and Nurse Marie down to the Atlantis infirmary. Then he relaxed, eyes falling closed. He didn't want to look at the Goa'uld, not yet. Maybe not ever. Not until the ship's medical team told him it was entire and intact and didn't carry too many human neurons with it.

The sound of Novak's unending hiccups was a comfort.

*****

Sheppard sat in the Atlantis mess hall, a cup of coffee in front of him. He'd been thinking about the past week and there were some thoughts he didn't want to ponder. At the top of that list was something the Goa'uld had said: 'if I had Atlantis from the beginning'. The implication was that the Goa'uld had been inside Caldwell since they'd all gotten back from Earth, maybe during the Siege of Atlantis or even before. Which meant all the months of Caldwell's overly critical treatment of him hadn't been Caldwell. It was something else, something that wanted Atlantis for its own twisted plans.

Which meant he'd never even met the man. And that was weird, almost as weird as the time dilation field.

Sheppard hummed in acknowledgment when McKay sat before him with a tray piled high.

“I hear Caldwell's breathing on his own,” McKay said, unwrapping a package of pre-made cookies. “Carson says there's nowhere near as much brain damage as he'd expect given how the symbiote thrashed around in there.” He stuffed one in his mouth without so much as a cursory sniff then wrinkled his nose. “Raisins, these are supposed to be chocolate chip.”

Sheppard glanced at the wrapper and wisely didn't tell McKay he was wrong, they were indeed oatmeal raisin. “What do we do about him now?” Sheppard asked.

“Out of our hands,” McKay said. He glared at his second cookie, blaming it for not being chocolate. He ate it anyway. “He's stable and there's nothing else we can do so Carson's going to have him transferred back to the _Daedalus_. The SGC can deal with him.”

“What will they do?” Sheppard asked.

McKay shrugged. “No idea. Hey, he won't be the only one. I heard a rumor that Sam hosted once. And then her dad carried a Tok'ra for years.”

“What's a Tok'ra?” Sheppard asked.

“That's right, you don't know,” McKay said. “From what I've heard the Tok'ra and the Goa'uld are political factions among the same species. They're worms about yea big.” He held his hands apart, underestimating the size of a Goa'uld by about a quarter. “They get into your brain and can pilot you around. It's really rather interesting, somehow they can make you immune to all sorts of diseases and...”

Sheppard tuned out McKay's weird one-sided discussion on the finer points of Goa'uld hosting.

Sometimes the SGC seemed really weird.

*****

He heard the sounds of the machines, the gentle thrum of the engines, felt the subtle scratch of something up his nose. He kept his eyes closed as he tried to figure out where he was.

Who he was.

He remembered... flashes. His sisters when they were all young, their mother's faith molding them as they grew up. He remembered Father, always trying to live vicariously through his children. Leaving, fleeing almost, to make his own life, his sisters all doing the same. The Air Force, the _Daedalus_ , he remembered...

He remembered enough.

Caldwell opened his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://nebulousmistress.tumblr.com/) where you can find a hundred little fanfics I never posted here. Check it out, drop a line, maybe dare me to write something for you.


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